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Drennan Float Fish stickfloat test on bread punch roach

August 9, 2019 at 6:39 pm

The arrival of a new reel of Drennan Float Fish line in 3.2 breaking strain was eagerly awaited this week to replace the old 2.6 B.S Bayer-Perlon on my ABU 501 match reel. On my last outing, a tangle had  reduced its length, the line was no longer running off the spool freely, so an update was required. Online reviews were good for the Float Fish line, being supple and free floating, while at 0.16mm the 3.2 lb Drennan line was the same diameter as my old Bayer 2.6 B.S. The line dropped through the letter box in the afternoon post and I was quick to load it onto the 501. A light olive colour, even this was similar to the Bayer line.

Any excuse to fish, bread bait and feed were soon out of the freezer and I was on my way to the river Blackwater ten miles away. Black clouds were gathering as I walked to a new swim, literally spending ten minutes hacking down stinging nettles to clear a fishing spot, as heavy raindrops began to cover the surface of the river. The shower was brief and refreshing in the humid air, just a fine drizzle remaining by 3:30 pm as I made my first cast.

This river is very shallow and I set my small 3 No 6 bodied stick float to just 18 inches deep to trot towards the bridge. The bottom is visible right across and following the first cloud of liquidised bread down, the float dipped and held under, the flash of a small roach indicating my first fish. The line was performing better than expected, considering the very light float, it pulling free of the reel spool without snagging.

Next trot, the float held down and I was playing a plump chub back upstream. I saw a pike dart across to the chub from cover along the opposite bank and raised the rod to draw the chub away, lifting it clear at my feet, leaving the 5 lb pike staring at the bank.

I prodded at the pike with my landing net and it turned to swim back over to the the other side. The pike returned and grabbed a small roach that I was playing, swimming back over, then letting go, but chasing the roach as I rushed it back to my side.

It began to rain again and I was already considering packing up, or moving. Unable to safely secure my tackle box on the steep bank, I was sitting on the bank with my feet resting on a narrow shelf, which was slowly eroding down toward the river and I was constantly shifting my weight to stay seated. Not ideal.

The pike took a small chub and charged off downstream, bending my 12 foot Hardy to the butt as I backwound the reel. This was the last straw, the size 16 hook holding firm in the pike’s jaw, while the chub dangled from the side, watching it swim by, as I now switched the rod to pull back down river. It lay motionless mid river and my attempts to jerk the hook free failed, causing the pike to retreat to the far side again. Pointing the rod at the pike, I pulled the line tight with my hand for a break. It obliged with a spurt away and the hook pulled free, complete with the now dead chub, which I threw back to the pike, last seen heading upstream.

I fed another couple of balls of bread in close, to keep the fish on  my side of the river, hooking a golden rudd, which I swung in.

The new Drennan line was working well, lifting easily to mend the line behind the float and setting the hook into a better roach.

The roach were lining up and getting bigger, the fish invisible until the hook was set.

The bites were very delicate, the float dipping and holding, then sinking slowly. Too early a strike usually resulted in a lost fish after a brief fight, too long could see the bait gone. I varied between 5 and 7 mm punches, the 5 mm on the size 16 hooking more fish, although the larger bait attracted better roach.

I was surprised that there were no dace in the swim, as my previous visits have had the dace going mad for the bread, juddering and jarring the float as they attacked the bait, often hooking themselves. Today was a much more sedate affair, another shy biting roach coming to the net.

This was the last decent roach, the pike attacking another as I played it back, coming off when I tried to hurry it in. A swirl down stream may have been the end of that roach. For me this too was the end of the roach, the pike had put them down. I scraped out a few more small chub and packed up at 6 pm.

The aim of the session was to test out my new line, which I felt it passed with flying colours. On the stickfloat, with a closed faced reel like the ABU 501, you want the line to be soft enough to coil off the spool, yet stiff enough to be able to mend the line back to the float. Allowing a bow in the line to develope, drags the float to one side, or worse speeds it downstream, which looks unnatural to the fish and no bites. I have said before, stick float fishing is becoming a lost art, which many today do not try, content to lob out a feeder on the bottom and wait for bites, while a good stickfloat man can entice the fish to his hook.

Magtech 7002 .22 semi auto rabbit stopper

August 6, 2019 at 11:00 am

I arrived at one of my shooting permissions on a warm evening to find that the hay had been cut, but not gathered in this week and opted for a walk round with my Magtech 7002 semi auto .22. The paddocks were still waist high with grass and cow parsley, as I walked along the farm lane toward the open fields, with little chance of spotting a wayward rabbit.

Approaching the old shed, a pair of rabbits crossed the path from the paddock and ducked down beneath the building, leaving me only enough time to raise the rifle before they were gone. I was aware now of another rabbit in the long grass beside the shed, again too late as it turned and hopped to safety. The gravel under foot probably sounds like thunder through bunny ears. They knew I was coming well in advance and I was not ready, thinking only of the area beyond. I reproached myself for my lack of fieldcraft, a stealthy creep along the edge, would have accounted for at least one of these big rabbits, I told myself.

On my last visit, the farmer’s son had filled in the burrows around the shed, but now they were scraped out again, evidence of a very active warren and as I rounded the building, rifle raised, I caught sight of brown fur disappearing round the back, with no sign when I reached the point. Hide and Seek.

Continuing along the path, through the gate, a rabbit pushed noisily through long grass into the safety of a patch of brambles, without offering a shot. I reached the cut field and waited by the next gate, where I had a clear view along the edge. Three rabbits were out between eighty and a hundred yards away, well out of range of the Magtech, with no cover in between. I decided to go back to the van for the HMR, but to stop first at the gatepost, where a bush gave cover back to the shed thirty yards away. The evening sun was still hot and the shed offered shade and green grass. Ten minutes into my wait, a rabbit appeared like magic beside the shed and hopped into the open. Resting the rifle on the gatepost, the muted pop from the silencer toppled the rabbit, the Winchester 42 grain subsonic bullet hitting home with a loud thud, that flushed out another feeding in the shade on my side of the path. It ran out, then back into the cover of the paddock, before I could get a bead on it.

 

A pair of rabbits appeared at the far end of the shed and chased in circles, not offering a shot, but keeping me busy with anticipation, spraying bullets at them may have struck lucky, but experience said not and I watched them eventually skip off in the opposite direction into another paddock.

Some minutes later the flushed out rabbit ventured back out and began feeding a yard away from the first. A dead rabbit does not seem to phase them. In the past I have picked off three, or four rabbits at long range with the HMR, continuing to feed, until they too were shot. At thirty yards this was a gift, the scope zeroed to this range giving a clear head shot.

The sun had now gone behind the trees and the area was in deep shadow. After 15 minutes there were no more offers and went forward and picked up these two big adults destined for more bunny burgers and pasties.

 

 

CZ452 Varmint .17 HMR pylon dusk stakeout

August 1, 2019 at 12:58 pm

A warm dry evening saw me back at the pylon warren, that I visited a few weeks ago. Haymaking has still not begun on this field and the previously cut grass has grown another inch or two following recent heavy rain. I was a little late, due to getting stuck in theme park traffic and the sun was already behind the trees.

Driving past the pylon I could see no rabbits out, but was prepared to wait, positioning myself about 60 yards from the warren with the HMR raised up a couple of inches on the bipod in an attempt to see over the grass.

The light was already fading, but I could see a set of ears twitching beyond a clump of grass another ten yards on. Too ill defined, the shot was not on. It obliged and trotted off, white tail bobbing, but stopped in even deeper grass. As I scanned the area, the brown shape of a closer rabbit passed across the scope and I followed it, only again to stop in deep grass, the tips of its ears twitching as it munched away. I clicked my tongue a couple of times and it looked up. I took the shot. Missed it. Turning back to the pylon, the rabbit stopped short, head and ears visible. I fired as it jumped forward again. Missed it!

Ten minutes later another rabbit hopped into the clearing and stopped. I didn’t miss this one. The light was now going fast as a dark shape crept round my side of the pylon. Masked by the greenery, it was barely visible and I waited for a better shot, which never happened, the rabbit slinking back to where it came from. This was frustrating, but was rewarded minutes later, when another bound into view from the blind side of the pylon, knocking it down with a snap shot. I had been on station for an hour, seen five and shot only two, it was now 8:15 pm and raised myself to go, however, from this higher position I could now see another feeding rabbit. Keeping my eye on the shape, I dropped down again, aligning the cross hairs below the just visible ears, the impact of the .17 bullet flipping the rabbit over.

Extremes of weather, too hot, then too wet, had kept me away from this productive warren and all the time the grass grows longer.

 

Bread punch finds tench, roach and rudd at Braybrooke

July 30, 2019 at 12:25 pm

Afternoon football practice was in full swing as I walked from the carpark to Jeanes Pond at Braybrooke recreation ground this week, my mind set on catching some of the tench from the club water.

Intending to fish the bread punch, I was aware that I needed to avoid attracting the hungry shoals of tiny roach and rudd that are occupying the upper layers of the pond this year. What worked for me on my last visit in June, was to feed an area away from my swim with a light mix of liquidised bread to attract the small stuff, while feeding damp, small tight balls of my tench mix of bread crumb laced with ground fish pellets, 2 mm krill pellets, with a dusting of ground krill; this sticky concoction being dropped onto the shelf, one to two metres out.

My antenna float was set to fish an inch off bottom, with the shot bulked a foot from the hook, hopefully to pass quickly to the bottom. That was the plan, but after a dozen three inch rudd had swallowed the 6 mm pellet of bread in seconds of the float hitting the water, I reached for my set of larger bread punches, going straight to the 9 mm, wrapping the disc round the size 16 hook, leaving the point showing out of the slit. The float bobbed and lifted, then sank and a better sized rudd was swinging to hand.

I was still catching the occasional mini rudd, but better fish had moved in, bubbles bursting all over my feed area, regular boilie sized balls attracting in raiding parties of rudd, that would dash in, grab my bread, bury the float and dash out again. I dropped a few, no doubt due to some of them being lipless wonders, past victims of barbed hooks and impatient anglers.

A few bobs of the float and a slow sink indicated a different species that stripped out the No 6 elastic, putting a bend in the top three sections of my pole, the short runs confirming that I was into my first tench, after 30 minutes of fishing.

Solid muscle, tench never give up the fight, even in the net, holding this one still for a pic was an effort.

If the bait got past the rudd, there were some good roach waiting, a slower, more genteel sinking of the float belying the frantic fight once hooked.

Another tench, found the bait. I had gone up to the 11 mm punch in the set, dabbing the pellet in ground krill pellets to coat it with the fishy flavour.

Smaller, but still powerful.

Another good roach.

This tench took me into the roots to my left, snagging the line in a sunken branch. Pulling back, the branch surfaced, but would not come free, so I let the line go slack and prodded at the fish with my landing net, this having the desired effect as the line tightened with round two of the fight.

Quality rudd continued getting in on the act; I was not complaining, but tench bubbles were still rising and I hoped for more.

Tench number four was a bit of a tiddler, but hard fighting all the same.

Another lipless rudd, but a good conditioned fish.

I had already overstayed my 6:30 deadline by ten minutes, when I hooked the best tench of the afternoon, which ran off, much like a carp, but then stood and fought, before giving in to the elastic and coming to the landing net.

Next fish was another fine roach, which warranted a phone call to my wife, as she was trying out a new dish for our evening meal. I had said that I was going to fish until seven, while she thought that I had meant home by seven. The chicken was already in the oven, so that was it. I had my marching orders. I packed up.

I am certain that another hour would have doubled the tally of tench.

 

Bread punch chub and dace on the stick float from the shallows

July 27, 2019 at 6:14 pm

Hot, hot, hot. Record breaking temperatures and high humidity sapped strength and enthusiasm for most activities this week, but thunderstorms brought some relief and I ventured back to my local river for three reasons, first that it is only ten minutes drive away, second that there are many shading trees and third that there are plenty of fish to be caught. The downside is that it runs through a very public recreation area full of dog walkers, cyclists, joggers and the public in general, curious as to why anyone would be fishing this apparently fishless stretch of water.

When I began fishing this little river nine years ago, it had been left to its own devices by the local council, only taking an interest, when the occasional tree fell across the path. In recent years its value as a wildlife habitat has been appreciated, shopping trolleys, discarded cycles and other detritus removed from the river and the banks cleared of many of the trees lining the banks, before they fell on some unsuspecting resident. Gone are the days, when an angler could settle down to fish unseen by all but the most observant walker, now we are in full view and if you are catching, you draw an audience.

Arriving mid afternoon, the cooling rain clouds had given way to more sunshine and I made my way past the crowded cafe down toward the river and my preferred swim, only to find it occupied by a couple repeatedly throwing a ball out to a bedraggled spaniel, enthusiastically diving into the muddied water to retrieve it. Walking back upstream, my next option was full of splashing ducks, being fed bread by several children watched over by a couple of mums. Above this the river passes quickly over stones to sweep along a run beneath a bush, where I could see movement among the shallows. This would have to do for a couple of hours.

The leaves on the bush showed signs of recent flooding, but now the river was crystal clear and I tackled up with a short carbon stemmed, bodied stick float carrying 4 No 6 shot and set to only a foot deep, a size 16 hook carrying a 5 mm pellet of punched bread. A small ball of bread was thrown a few feet above the bush and I watched it disintegrate, being attacked by several fish before it reached the bottom. First cast over to the opposite side saw the float glide away and the rod bent into a small chub.

Not large, but good sport dashing over the shallows on light tackle. Next cast came a dace.

Then a small roach. Three species in three casts.

Then. “Ooo you are catching a lot of fish” To my left on the raised bank were a mother, two daughters and a big black dog. “Do you mind if we let our dog swim in the river below you?” Having persuaded the lady that it would not be beneficial to my fishing, while one of her daughters held onto the straining leash, she stood at the edge looking across into the water. “I can’t see any fish. Its very clear.” I was too polite to tell her that the fish could see her bright blouse, as she waved her arms about, she explaining that her husband takes them fishing. I caught another dace from under the bush. This inspired the lady to call her husband, who was in a meeting at work, to inform him that I was catching fish from this little river and could he take them fishing here after work? I had stopped catching. Hubby said that he would get an EA licence on-line, which brought me to ask the question whether they were members of the Brayebrooke Club, who controlled the fishing rights. They were not. For me a stroke of luck. I informed them that day tickets were available at the cafe. The brood were gathered up, farewells were bid and they were gone to buy a ticket. Phew! A nice family, but they had scared the fish away.

Another couple of balls of liquidised bread thrown upstream of the bush, soon brought a bite and another small chub.

I could see fish glinting in the sun further down, as the particles flowed beyond the bush, the float usually under before it reached that far. The chub tended to sink the float and swim off, as did small rudd, while the dace gave sharp taps of the float, until the bait was gone. What worked with them was to suddenly stop the float, resulting in a sharp pull under and a rapid strike, often pulling them to the surface in a boil of spray. The small roach were very fussy, dipping the float a few millimetres, then letting go, until the bait was gone, or eventually holding the float down long enough for a strike. It had started raining, but I didn’t put on my jacket, the air was already hot and humid and it made no difference to the fishing. The fish were small, but entertaining. The net was filling and another section of punch bread was already full of holes.

The float disappeared and I was into a decent fish that flashed, when it turned to rush off downstream, pulling the rod round as I quickly backwound. I could see that it was a chub, zigzagging across the bottom away from me, until it gave up the fight, turning to follow the opposite bank upstream, steering it over to the landing net, keeping its white mouth clear of the water.

Worth the wait, considering a couple more interruptions to answer questions from bystanders, the bait trail attracting a better fish at last. I had tried a 6 mm punch this time, although the next cast brought a small rudd, so nothing proved.

Over two dozen fish in a busy two hours, that kept my concentration and reflexes on the edge.

 

Stick float dace and roach crowded out by a crucian carp surprise

July 18, 2019 at 8:06 am

With only a few afternoon hours to spare this week, I took the short drive to my local river Cut this week, finding the level the lowest I have ever seen it, the bottom visible right the way across, despite the water being murky. I walked downstream to try one of the new swims recently created by the Environment Agency, depositing my tackle box on a raised grassy fishing platform. The river here has been narrowed and contoured using willow faggots, backfilled with branches to speed up the flow.

Testing the depth with a plummet, I found only 18 inches in the middle and about two feet close to the willow faggots on the opposite bank, deciding to trot my 3 No 4 ali stemmed stick float as close to that side as I could. Putting a couple of small balls of liqudised bread on that side, I was ready to run through with a 6 mm pellet of bread on a size 16 hook. First cast in, the float sank like a stone and I lifted into a nice dace that tumbled across the river to the net.

Introduced by the EA a couple of years ago as 4 inch fish to the river after pollution, these dace have grown well in the Cut, which never had dace before the stocking.

The dace were now lined up along the willow and I took several despite a harsh downstream wind, that was putting a bow in the line, trying to drag the float downstream. Mending the line worked in my favour against the fine biting dace, the sudden jerk of the line inspiring them to sink the float, the follow through hooking a fish just about every time.

The bites were still fussy and retreating further downstream, so I chanced another small ball over to bring them back up.This had the effect of bringing a small shoal of rudd into the swim and I took a few of them along with more dace.

Bringing in a small dace, there was a swirl behind it, then another and I saw a large perch chasing it in, lifting the dace clear in time.

This dace was too big for the perch, but the next one across was grabbed again, the perch boring deep with its prize until the hook pulled free. That was the last of the dace, the shoal swimming off upstream creating a bow wave, no doubt with the perch in hot pursuit.

I put over another small ball of bread and trotted down again, the bites becoming very finicky and I went down to a 5 mm punch in search of more positive bites. It worked. Easing the float into the bay opposite and holding back against the weak flow, brought a slow sink of the float and my first roach of the afternoon.

The roach were getting better, although the bites were barely tipping the float, apart from a lift bite that brought the best rudd of the afternoon.

More roach.

Then a chub.

Then a 3 lb 8 oz crucian carp.

The float had gone straight down like the chub before it and I stuck into a solid lump that woke up with a start and dashed off down stream against the backwind, turning to run upstream along the opposite side, a broad flash of gold as it rooted along the bottom sending up a shower of bubbles. I have caught common carp here before, but the fish was too short and fat, realising that this was my personal best Crucian. I let it go where it wanted, without putting a strain on the size 16 barbless hook. From the high bank, the angle of the landing net was too steep to the water and the carp was in and out twice, before it was three times lucky and I hauled it up the bank.

The British Crucian Carp record stands at 4 lb 10 oz, this barrel shaped crucian was just over 3 lb 8 oz on my scale, certainly a specimen.

This topped my afternoon’s fishing session, anything else would have been an anticlimax and I packed up, tipping the remainder of my fish into the net with the crucian, before lowering them back into the river.

 

Abu Garcia 507 Mk2 fishing reel review. Bread punch on the waggler for carp

July 15, 2019 at 7:34 pm

Back in my serious match fishing days, Abu closed face reels were my ultimate choice for waggler and stick float fishing, first with a pair of 506’s, then with a couple of 501’s. The 506’s had their locking pawl removed to allow for back winding, while the 501’s came ready for the matchman with back wind. Over the years, one of my 506’s wore out, refusing to pick up line reliably, while the gears went on a 501, being replaced by a new old stock one from a closing down sale, both still giving good service. The remaining 506 is in use on my spinning rod , the original use for the American market.

For feeder fishing an open spool Abu Cardinal 54 had served me well, being replaced by a Shimano 2500m Aero XT7, which has recently found its way onto my 12.5 ft Normark float rod as a combo for tackling the carp on a local lake. This reel on the float rod has not worked as hoped. Yes it casts well, also having a retrieve rate of 6 to 1, it is ideal for staying in contact when a carp runs toward you. It has an easily adjusted drag, which when released allows backwind, but at your peril, as it can tangle.

So why am reviewing an Abu 507 Mk2 reel? Too many times now, I have had lose line wrap around the handle, or back of the spool, when waggler fishing for carp with the Shimano and complained to my wife, too near to my birthday, that I had lost a carp due to the line being trapped. “Why not get another reel?” she said “The kids can buy one for your birthday.” Having always used the 500 series of Abus for float fishing with no line problems, I looked for a more beefed up version of my other reels and there was the 507 Mk2. A much larger spool with a retrieve rate of 5 to 1, which would outpace the smaller spooled Shimano, five bearing support and an adjustable switchable drag, which would give me a safe backwind option. At under £60 brand new on-line, I was sold. Before I could change my mind, my wife placed the order and it arrived in time for my birthday.

This is what arrived, a padded zip up case, with compartments for three shallow spools and a deeper one, I assume for heavy line. Also included were spare sets of chennelle for the spools, to prevent the line from being sucked behind the spool, breather holes already in the spools have got this problem covered.

Loading a 100 metres of 5 lb line to a shallow spool was surprisingly quick, compared to a 501, the 9 mm larger spool and retrieve rate saw to that. With line loaded, I set off in the early evening to the nearby carp lake, where I found that spawning was in full flow, black mud being stirred up in front of me.

The larger carp were not my target tonight, but the multitudes of one and two year olds that have bred naturally in this council owned green space recently. Having lobbed out a few balls of liquidised bread toward the island, I tried an underhand side cast, the float landing well beyond my feed close to the island. This was already better than the Shimano, a powered overhead cast usually required for this distance. First cast the float bobbed and slid under as the 7 mm pellet of punched bread was taken, feeling a slight resistance as a mini common was sped back to my hand.

Next cast a small mirror took the bread, the perfectly balanced 507 bringing it quickly to hand.

These micro carp were taking it in turns to pounce on the bread the moment the float hit the water. I decided to feed another three balls across laced with krill powder

It was the same result for a while, more mini carp, chucking them back each time, then resistance and a run along the island brought a slightly larger common, a slow retrieve bringing the juvenile fish to my bank and the landing net.

A few more of these could provide a bit of sport and a decent net in the remaining hour, so I put the keep net in. I continued casting and hooking the very small stuff, but another better common soon followed.

This were lying close to the far shore, the cast needing little effort to peel the line from the spool, while keeping the punched bread on the hook, for yet another mini battler. This time a surprise rudd.

Once prolific in this lake, I have not caught a rudd here for a while, but it was good to see there are some survivors. Fed by a brook, gudgeon were also a nuisance fish in the lake, they may be deep in the mud, but no one has had any for years.

The reel was performing well, balancing the Normark, as I stuck into more small commons, when they sank the float out of sight.

The float skated across the surface and disappeared and I instinctively lifted the rod as the line arced round following a proper carp, that accelerated away under the trees, leaving a black trail of mud. Backwinding, I remained in contact as the carp tried to get around the end of the island, but I laid the rod over, still back winding, but keeping on the pressure, bringing the fish to the surface. The carp, about 5 lbs, was foul hooked in the tail, pulling away like a dog on a lead, slowly coming back to me, then pulling away again. It turned and ran back as I retrieved line, turning away again as it passed, pulling hard for the island, but slowing to a stop and I pulled it back toward my landing net. With barely enough water to swim in, it turned over, flapping in the mud, the hook pulling free and flying back. Slowly it took stock of the situation, then with an almighty effort the carp powered off into deeper water.

This was my cue to pack up, the light was fading and I had enjoyed non stop action of one sort, or the other, putting over a dozen small carp in the net.

This had been an effective testing session for the Abu 507 Mk2. No tangles, or trapped line, more importantly I had been able to forget about previous worries with the Shimano and get on and fish.

 

 

 

CZ452 Varmint .17 HMR searches out hide and seek rabbits

July 12, 2019 at 1:26 pm

A brief evening visit to one of my permissions gave me a frustrating hour, as rabbits darted in and out of the long grass alongside a warren hidden beneath a pylon this week.

The farmer had cut a strip of grass for animal feed, but already it is growing back, giving cover for an active warren, several rabbits being visible as I drove past it along the lane. Once in the field, I approach slowly, until I was spotted, getting down to crawl a further twenty yards. Although I could still see rabbits going about their business, once down behind the scope all I could see was grass. Extending the bipod legs on the CZ452 by three inches helped, clearing the grass in front of me, but apart from a few sets of ears twitching, a shot was awkward as I had to rest on one elbow to raise my body for the scope.

A jogger trotting down the lane helped, scattering the rabbits back to safety beneath the pylon. This gave me the chance to crawl another twenty yards over the curve of the field. They began to come out again. I was able to lower the legs a couple of inches for a more comfortable view and had a perfect bead on a sitting rabbit, when the brown shape of another crossed my line of sight. The first one chased after it up the field. I followed them until they disappeared into longer grass. One of them bounded away, appearing briefly then hidden again. It stopped and sat up, head and ears barely visible. Adjusting the scope parallax beyond a hundred yards gave a clearer picture. I fired, it arched up clear and was gone in the grass.

The other rabbit now sat up, only its ears visible. Aiming between them and lower, I fired again. It vanished from sight.  Much closer, near the pylon, a rabbit ran into the cropped grass and I snapped off another shot. Missed it? It ran back to cover as another previously unseen to the left, got up and made toward the pylon, passing into the scope view. This shot made no mistake and the rabbit lay still. Four shots and three rabbits an a matter of seconds?

The sound of a car in the lane to my left cause me to look round. It was a police motorway traffic car, the lane serving the M25 as access for authorised vehicles. An officer was looking out at me. I gave him a thumbs up and he waved back, continuing slowly down the lane. He probably saw the action unfold. I am known to the police as having permission to shoot in the area and was thankful, that he had not decided to check my documents.

I waited another ten minutes and got up, walking toward the pylon. The third rabbit had been a yard from safety. Thirty yards on I found the second rabbit with a wound exiting the back of its neck. It had been flipped over backwards. A good shot at that range. The search now began for the first rabbit. I knew that it was over to the left and further still. The grass here was taller and thicker and I quartered the area up and down, but could not find it, despite it being the largest of the three. Once hit by the expanding Hornady 17 HMR bullet they rarely go far, but eventually I had to give up. It was a waste of a life and of good meat.

In the spring the pylon area had provided many meals, the grass was short and a hollow had provided cover for eighty yard shots, but now repopulated, only one side is accessable until haymaking takes place.

Riddled with burrows, a few more visits will be needed before the numbers are reduced, although the currently unshootable grass covered field beyond, is home to the largest warren I have ever seen, which is full of willing replacements.

Local pond worth the walk for bread punch rudd and carp

July 10, 2019 at 8:46 am

With my van in dock having a new gearbox fitted, there was only one option open for fishing this week, the long walk down to my local pond in bright sunshine, working up a sweat with my loaded fishing trolley in tow. Pausing in the shade of the lane, I got my breath back ready for the last two hundred yards to my swim.

Walking along the bank, I could see that the shallows at the inlet were full of carp getting ready to spawn, not a good sign for my expectations of a net of carp this afternoon. There were no other anglers present and settled into a favourite swim away from the lily beds, although on such a hot afternoon, the lilies were holding most of the fish out of the sun. Lily beds usually result in snags and lost fish for me and prefer to draw my fish out into a safe area.

Damping down half a pint of liquidised bread, I threw four soft balls in a square, eight to nine metres out. There was an immediate response from the small rudd that plague this pond, although some better sized fish were soon searching among the bread crumbs. Setting up my pole to six metres, I intended breaking down to four with a long line of three to hand and a 2 No 4 waggler half a metre deep and a size 16 hook. The pond is very shallow, with thick black silt covering the bottom and by the time I was ready to fish at 12:30, there was already a dark stain beneath the surface, where fish were searching for my feed.

First cast in, the float sailed away and a half decent rudd kited off across the pond.

Trying to avoid too many small rudd, I had started off with a 7 mm bread punch, but this one had taken the bait and swallowed it in seconds.

These rudd were fat and in their prime, needing to net many of them, although most were swung to hand, my keepnet soon filling, taking two a minute. Continuing with the occasional small ball of feed, kept the decent rudd interested, the better ones fighting all the way to the net.

Usually on this pond, the first half hour is dominated by rudd, only to be eventually pushed out by the carp, but I was still catching these beautiful fish after two hours.

At last bubbles began to burst on the surface and I dropped the float in the middle of them, watching as it lifted, then sank slowly away, the elastic zipping out from the pole tip as a small common carp made off with the bread. Stirring up mud, the fish circled away from me, as I followed it with the pole raised, the red elastic stretching down into the water.

The rudd had moved out and the bites changed to dips and hold unders and I bumped a couple of fish, that I assumed were crucian carp just sucking at the bread. Leaving the next bite until it slowly edged under, I struck into solid resistance and the stand and fight, tumbling battle saw the elastic out again as the golden flanks of a large crucian flashed beneath the surface. Taking my time, I brought the pole back to four metres and drew the crucian over the net. Hooked in the very tip of the upper lip, the hook came out in the net. Phew!

Fine bubbles were now over the feed area, a sure sign of crucians, but the bites were slow to develope and I missed a few more, before a switch to a 5 mm pellet produced a more positive bite and a fish.

These small brightly coloured crucians are bait stealers, tending to sit stationary, sucking at the bread, barely moving the float. In the past I have lifted off thinking that the bait is gone to find one hanging on the hook. For this one I timed it right.

With an early evening commitment, I had set my time limit at 3:30 and bang on time the float crept away and another small crucian came to the net.

Packing up is never easy when the better fish are finally coming on the feed, but I had had an absorbing time catching rudd, being an enjoyable interlude in a busy day.

A satisfying net of fish, making the uphill walk back home worth the effort.

Magtech 7002 semi auto .22 gets lucky waiting for hay making

July 4, 2019 at 10:54 pm

A wet spring followed by sunshine and heavy showers, caused a growing spurt on the grasses around my local farms this year, closing the brief window available early on for shooting rabbits. After a frustrating evening with rabbits playing hide and seek among the nettles and thick grass on a large warren, I had decided to wait for haymaking to take place before venturing out again.

Assured that the contractor would soon be arriving to begin cutting and baling, I took a walk around to get the lie of the land, looking for latrine areas and feeding spots on another hot afternoon, while taking the opportunity to talk with the farmers, about their intentions once the grass was cut. Finding out when and where cattle will be put out to graze will also help, when planning a visit. An area already partly cut was pointed out, which had a couple of rabbits in full view, but they were too far off for the Magtech, although an easy shot for the CZ 452 HMR locked in the gun cabinet at home. Noting this for an evening visit next week.

Moving on to the next farm down the lane, two rabbits were lying out in the shade as I drove slowly into the yard, but as I watched, they got up and melted back into the undergrowth. Picking up the Magtech and loading a full ten shot magazine, I moved a few steps at a time listening for movement.

At the gate I stopped and waited, to my left was good view into the empty barn and a grassy area beyond, while ahead the track was bordered by long grass, a clear rabbit run passing down into a green depression in the ground, that sloped up to the wall of the barn, the grass cropped short by nibbling teeth. At the gate I had clear site of the area 25 yards away, with several runs giving access from a bed of brambles. The ideal place for an ambush.

A rustle through the grass to my right on the other side of the fence, was probably one of the rabbits disturbed earlier, passing unseen along the rabbit highway, watching with the rifle poised as the grasses parted past me. Now on my side of the fence, I glimpsed its raised ears. It knew my intentions and flat to the ground it crossed the track into more long grass. Through the scope I could just make out the brown fur of its body. It came out of cover and dropped down into the depression, as I squeezed the trigger, hitting it in the body, bowling it over, but not out, as it scrabbled for one of the bramble exit holes. Crack, the sound of bullet on bone stopped it dead with a clean head shot.

 Walking to the next gate, I disturbed another rabbit, that picked its way through the brambles only yards away, but out of sight. A shot, or two, blind into the brambles may have hit it, but there it would have stayed, a waste of meat.

I walked back to the farmhouse to show off my prize, being assured that the grass would soon be cut, the concern being that the feed quality of the hay would be reduced with each dry day. I look forward to the days of no hiding place again.